


With These Hands

by Verlaine



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-03
Updated: 2011-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verlaine/pseuds/Verlaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heyes likes to watch</p>
            </blockquote>





	With These Hands

**Author's Note:**

> A triple drabble, written for Hardboiledbaby, who asked for Curry/Heyes, and hand porn

Heyes isn't obvious about it, but he likes to watch Curry clean his gun. More specifically, he likes to watch Curry's hands. When the Kid is good at something, he's very good, and at anything to do with guns, he's a master.

He's not sure why it's this ordinary chore that fascinates him. It's Curry's looks and charm that normally attract attention. Maybe that's part of it — this side of Curry he alone is privileged to appreciate. Heyes finds cleaning his gun tedious, necessary though it is, and his own hands useful but uninteresting. Their hands aren't even that much different — Curry's a shade broader, the fingers a bit less tapered, Heyes' marginally slimmer and softer. Though they both wear gloves more than most for protection, Kid carries tell-tale calluses from the endless gun practice Heyes can't allow himself if he wants to keep his touch for the tumblers and cards.

From behind his book, Heyes watches Curry ease the patch up and down through the barrel. The cylinder clicks rhythmically as he twirls it with one finger, head cocked slightly to listen for any hesitation. His thumb pulls the hammer back and forth, testing for the slightest pressure differential, then makes one last pass with a scrap of rag around the trigger and hammer to remove any remaining specks of grit and congealed oil.

Finally, Curry closes his eyes and runs the pads of his fingers over every inch, from the muzzle to the grip, feeling for the most minute burr or nick that could catch on the inside of his holster and impede the draw. Heyes can almost feel the warm silky glide on his skin, and feels himself shiver and flush like a schoolboy.

Curry's eyes flick open and he grins at Heyes.

"Your turn."


End file.
